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RE LA SOL MIm7 LA7
With your mercury mouth in the missionary times,
RE LA SOL MIm LA7
And your eyes like smoke and your prayers like rhymes,
SOL FA#m MIm7 LA7 RE
And your silver cross, and your voice like chimes,
MIm7 LA MIm LA7
Oh, who among them do they think could bury you?
RE LA SOL MIm7 LA7
With your pockets well protected at last,
RE LA SOL MIm LA7
And your streetcar visions which you place on the grass,
SOL FA#m MIm7 LA7 RE
And your flesh like silk, and your face like glass,
MIm7 LA MIm LA7
Who among them do they think could carry you?
---- Chorous:
MIm RE LA7
Sad eyed lady of the lowlands,
MIm RE LA7
Where the sad eyed prophet says that no man comes,
FA#m SOL RE SOL RE MIm7 LA7
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
MIm MIm7 LA MIm LA
Should I leave them by your gate,
MIm RE LA7 RE
Or sad eyed lady, should I wait?
With your sheets like metal and your belt like lace,
And your deck of cards missing the jack and the ace,
And your basement clothes and your hollow face,
Who among them can think he could outguess you?
With your sillouette when the sunlight dims
Into your eyes where the moonlight swims,
And your match-book songs and your gypsy hymns,
Who among them would try to impress you?
[Chorous]
The kings of Tyrus with their convict list
Are waiting in line for their geranium kiss,
And you wouldn't know it would happen like this,
But who among them really wants just to kiss you?
With your childhood flames on your midnight rug,
And your Spanish manners and your mother's drugs,
And your cowboy mouth and your curfew plugs,
Who among them do you think could resist you?
[Chorous]
Oh, the farmers and the businessmen, they all did decide
To show you the dead angels that they used to hide.
But why did they pick you to sympathize with their side?
Oh, how could they ever mistake you?
They wished you'd accepted the blame for the farm,
But with the sea at your feet and the phony false alarm,
And with the child of a hoodlum wrapped up in your arms,
How could they ever, ever persuade you?
[Chorous]
With your sheet metal memory of Cannery Row,
And your magazine-husband who one day just had to go,
And your gentleness now, which you just can't help but show,
Who among them do you think would employ you?
Now you stand with your thief, you're on his parole
With your holy medallion which your fingertips fold,
And your saintlike face and your ghostlike soul,
Oh, who among them do you think could destroy you?
[Chorous]
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